I was at a La Paz bar around Purim this year, and there happened to be a lot of Israelis there (because there are always a lot of Israelis in La Paz). One young man, whose English was not particularly good, was hitting on me. He told me that he was a dj and occasionally (about every 4th sentence) mentioned “I’m famous in Tel Aviv.” Eventually growing weary of this statement I told him “Well, I’m famous in La Paz.”
This is not exactly true. But I find more and more that my “fame” in La Paz resembles the way I felt in the small town where I grew up. I’ve written already how I consistently run into people in the street here. But I think my day yesterday in general was a nice, comforting, and sometimes surprising indication of what I might egotistically (and not without irony) refer to as fame.
I woke up and was writing a bit at home. Sharing chocolatey cereal with my roommate Thomas, when our other roommate Jack came into the room. “Anybody want to go repelling today?”
Ummm…..maybe?
After hearing a meager amount of details, I agreed. “But I have to go pick up my package at the post office first.” So I set off, fully expecting this to be step 1 of 7 or 8 in customs forms and bank deposits before my old jeans and sneakers would fall into my hands. There was no line to pick up international packages, and the pollera clad woman behind the window found my box quickly. She held onto my passport while I went downstairs to customs. And there in the doorway was the man who was actually quite helpful when Alé and I were attempting to get the box of tattoo needles through customs. The man walked over, took one look at me and said, “You look familiar. Have you been here before?” I explained yes, and why, and he asked “There aren’t needles in this one are there?” “No, just some old shoes of mine from the US.” He handed the box back without opening it.
This is not exactly true. But I find more and more that my “fame” in La Paz resembles the way I felt in the small town where I grew up. I’ve written already how I consistently run into people in the street here. But I think my day yesterday in general was a nice, comforting, and sometimes surprising indication of what I might egotistically (and not without irony) refer to as fame.
I woke up and was writing a bit at home. Sharing chocolatey cereal with my roommate Thomas, when our other roommate Jack came into the room. “Anybody want to go repelling today?”
Ummm…..maybe?
After hearing a meager amount of details, I agreed. “But I have to go pick up my package at the post office first.” So I set off, fully expecting this to be step 1 of 7 or 8 in customs forms and bank deposits before my old jeans and sneakers would fall into my hands. There was no line to pick up international packages, and the pollera clad woman behind the window found my box quickly. She held onto my passport while I went downstairs to customs. And there in the doorway was the man who was actually quite helpful when Alé and I were attempting to get the box of tattoo needles through customs. The man walked over, took one look at me and said, “You look familiar. Have you been here before?” I explained yes, and why, and he asked “There aren’t needles in this one are there?” “No, just some old shoes of mine from the US.” He handed the box back without opening it.
So I ran back upstairs, reclaimed my passport, and headed to Hotel Presidente, La Paz’s 5 star establishment. In the lobby I ran into Brian, a Death Road biking guide I’ve met a few times before. This Urban Rush business is his, and he wanted to do a soft opening to practice to asked Jack to invite some people to try it out for free. He led me to the elevator, and we went up to the 15th floor, then up some grand stairs to a restaurant that looks out over La Paz. And then finally up a small spiral staircase to a smallish room on the very top of the building. There was an open window with some scaffolding around it for harnesses. Yep. That’s where I was about to step out of.
Eventually, Jack came around with some people from the bar he manages and we were all given awesome orange jumpsuits to wear and went through a little training. I, for some reason, volunteered to go first on the practice wall, and thus was first in line for going down the real thing. And so I did. 17 stories. With about 5 stories of free fall. And then they convinced me to do it face first. And that was even more awesome. So yes, I was the very first person, not employed by the company to try this all out.
After my thrilling experience, I had another. Dropping off laundry. Umberto, my laundry man, always strikes up a conversation. This laundry place is nowhere remotely convenient to my new apartment, but Umberto always gives me a discount along with good stories, so I return. This time he decided not to charge me at all. “Why pay? You can pay next time.”
After that I headed over to a café to do some writing, and along the way ran into Jack and Samuel, one of the bar’s owners. Less than a block later I saw Gonz from Tito’s and explained that I had just been repelling to him. “Que Bueno!” He walked off with a “Nos vemos esta fin de semanana” and a kiss to the cheek.
The rest of the day was less exciting. A bit of writing, eating dinner, hanging around the house. But its nice to live somewhere that doesn’t feel strange any more.
After that I headed over to a café to do some writing, and along the way ran into Jack and Samuel, one of the bar’s owners. Less than a block later I saw Gonz from Tito’s and explained that I had just been repelling to him. “Que Bueno!” He walked off with a “Nos vemos esta fin de semanana” and a kiss to the cheek.
The rest of the day was less exciting. A bit of writing, eating dinner, hanging around the house. But its nice to live somewhere that doesn’t feel strange any more.
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